Enough
by RonaldAndMione
Summary: Fighting a war is hard, but sometimes, the aftermath can be just as difficult.


**Enough**

The grief came and went.

Sometimes it stayed around longer than usual. Other times it went away quickly, like when Ron saw a spare broomstick in the shed that Fred used to grab when they went to play Quidditch.

Sometimes it didn't go away for days, and Ron would trap himself in his room, just like George did, and he would sit, or lay, on his bed, staring at the Chudley Cannons posters on the wall opposite in silence, the fact that they hadn't won a game in Merlin knows how many years being the least of his worries.

Sometimes Harry couldn't come in. Ron wouldn't let him. He was too angry, too sad, too depressed, too lost, too stuck in a horrible cloud to find his way out and to get to the door and open it. Other times, Harry knew Ron was crying in his room and knew to just let him be. Ron appreciated the fact that Harry never said anything. Then there were times that Harry could come in, because Ron did let him, and they would just sit together in Ron's room in silence, staring at nothing and thinking about everything.

Sometimes Ron saw his mother crying in the kitchen when she thought no one was looking. Sometimes Ron heard his dad say he was going to work in the shed but Ron knew his dad would probably just cry there. Sometimes Bill and Fleur came over and they'd wince as they walked into the house, entering that dark, gloomy home. Sometimes Percy would try and get everyone outside, to play Quidditch, or pick vegetables out from the garden, but when everyone did it, they did it half-heartedly. Ron wanted to tell Percy that he didn't have to feel guilty, that he had come back and that that was what mattered, but then he remembered he had done the exact same thing to Hermione and Harry and still hadn't been able to forgive himself, and then he understood why Percy was trying so hard to make everyone happy, to make everyone feel better. He needed to redeem himself. Sometimes Ron felt he still needed to redeem himself, too.

Sometimes George would crack a smile, say a joke, but never was his heart in it. He tried to be both members of the legendary duo but came up one-short, especially when his brown eyes were so dull and lost and broken. Sometimes Ron would talk to him and a bit of spark would return to his eyes, especially when the topic of Hermione came up, and Ron would gladly let George tease him about her if it meant that spark would remain and re-ignite the fire inside his brother. Sometimes it didn't work, but Ron would continue until he had nothing else to tell him, and then he would get up and walk away.

Sometimes Ron would pass Ginny's room and hear cries. Sometimes he could hear Harry's soft murmurs of comfort, and he would feel glad that his best friend was helping his little sister through this. Sometimes he felt protective and wanted to open the door and separate them, but he never did. They were too good for each other.

Sometimes Ron wouldn't eat. He would hear his mother call up the stairs, and he would refuse to come down. He would sometimes feel guilty that food was going to waste, but then he'd think that his mum didn't make anything for Fred, and that Fred needed something to eat, too, and he felt his refusal to leave his sanctuary, his place of solitude, was justified.

Sometimes someone would come up and knock on his door. Sometimes they'd try to open it without his permission, but his locking charm prevented them. They didn't try to undo the charm. They would turn around and go back downstairs. They couldn't get him to join them.

Sometimes Ron couldn't sleep. He would toss around in bed, trying to stop remembering how the wall exploded and the pieces fell on his brother. Sometimes he would shut his eyes tightly, as if to block everything out, and sometimes it'd work, but most of the time it didn't. Sometimes when he did fall asleep, he'd still be reminded, and he'd see his brother die all over again.

Sometimes Ron would wish for something to save him from drowning in his horrible memories. He would wish for someone to help him breathe again.

And she always did.

She always, _always_ did.

She was air. She was water. She was food. She was life.

She was sunshine and daisies and lying in a field of tall grass, being secluded and hidden from the rest of the world, a secret. She was the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle, the relief that came after the piece fell back in place, where it belonged, where it was always meant to be. She was the glory in the end of a chess game.

She was everything beautiful and perfect and real.

And when Ron's face quickly turned sad when he saw the lone broom in the shed, the one that wouldn't be flown by Fred again, she would always put her arm around Ron, turn his face to hers and kiss him lightly on the lips, then quietly breathe "Go have a fly."

And when Ron locked himself in his room and wouldn't let Harry in, she was always granted permission, and she would sit next to him on his bed. Harry didn't protest, because he understood, and she was so caring and concerned and wonderful that she never pressured Ron to talk. She would always wait. She had waited for seven years. She had gotten quite good at it.

Sometimes Ron would pass the kitchen and see her. His mother would be nowhere in sight, but she would be there in her place, cleaning the dishes the muggle way because she didn't know the spell, and she would have to look it up later, but she never found the time. Sometimes, she wasn't cleaning the dishes. Sometimes she was stirring something in a boiling, steaming pot and scrunching her face up adorably in disdain as she peered over at its contents. Sometimes Ron would see her look at a pile of plates stacked next to her, and at the table they were meant to be resting on, and his heart would ache at the knowledge that she thought she wasn't doing a good enough job, that the fact that she had tried to prepare a meal for everyone in the family wasn't enough. It was enough. It was always more than enough.

And when his father was not in the shed, a rare time, she would always try and talk to him about muggles and their ideas and inventions. Sometimes his face lit up. Ron always sat with them, listening to their discussions, trying to learn more about the world his everything was from. He never voiced aloud to her how much he appreciated her help in getting his dad back to his cheery self, but she didn't need him to. She always knew.

And whenever Bill and Fleur came over Hermione would always greet them happily, ignoring the fact that the house was so quiet and dead. They would converse with each other as they drank tea and Ron would sometimes pass them and think about how grateful he was to those people who had saved him and, more importantly, saved her. He would sometimes see the gratitude in her eyes as she spoke to Bill and Fleur and he knew, because she had told him, that it was because they had taken him in and looked after him when he had nowhere else to go and saved him when she couldn't herself. Then, before he could open his mouth to tell her that he wouldn't have needed saving if he hadn't selfishly left in the first place, she reminded him that every hero had a weak moment and every hero needed saving sometimes, and that never again would anyone else, besides her, have to save him, because she would always be there.

And when Percy suggested everyone get outside, she was always the first to agree, the first to help him encourage everyone else. Ron would see Percy give her a grateful smile, and she would simply smile back, and when her lips curved upwards everything was right in Ron's world and he would stand up and beckon everyone outside too.

And when Ron was finished with his conversations with George, she would always be waiting for him, ready to comfort _him_ and talk to _him_. She would tell him that he was being so wonderful and supportive to everyone else that he needed to be taken care of, too. Ron would always argue that _she_ was the one that was taking care of everyone, and then they would, for once, agree to disagree.

And when Ron passed Ginny's room and heard Harry's voice along with Ginny's and wanted to open the door and separate them, it was always she who put her small hand against his chest, looked up into his eyes and stopped him. And he wouldn't open the door, because of her. Then, she would lower her hand down, gently placing it in his, and she would lead him up the stairs to his room, where they could comfort each other together.

And in those times Ron refused to come downstairs to eat and his family were worried for him, it was always only Hermione who was allowed in. He would just know it's her, from her concerned voice calling out his name, and he would open the door for her. Only for her. And in those times, it was she who took his hand and guided him downstairs to the kitchen, convincing him to face the outside world again and fill his rumbling tummy because he doesn't deserve to suffer, even though he thought he did.

And when Ron couldn't sleep he'd get up, leave his room, and go downstairs to her. Sometimes she'd be asleep, and Ron would simply open the door to Ginny's room and look at her as she breathed evenly, the moonlight shining through the window down onto her beautiful face. Sometimes Ron was too wound up and shaken to simply look and he'd quickly make his way over to her bed and lay down next to her, wrapping his arms around her. She'd wake then, and, without a word, turn around to face him and bury her face in his chest, because she needed him as much as he needed her. Sometimes she wasn't asleep when he came, and she'd look up at him gratefully as he pulled back the covers and slipped in next to her. But, every single time, no matter if she was asleep or awake, she always let him sleep with her, and Ron could dream of amazing once again.

And when they were together and the grief began to act up once more, rising up inside him and taking over him like a large, powerful wave, and Ron was stuck, unable to swim, and drowning, she was there, holding onto him, keeping him above water.

And then the grief would wash out of him in the form of tears as he clung to her with all his might, because she was the only thing keeping him alive and floating. And when the wave had finally trilled away, he would gasp for air, would gasp for her, and she would kiss him and tell him he was okay, that he was alive, and that everything would be all right. And he always, always believed her, because Hermione Granger was always right.

Sometimes he loved her and things were bad. Sometimes he loved her and things were good. But she was there, every single time there was – the good and bad - and he always loved her, and she always loved him, and for Ron, that was enough. That was always more than enough.

And one day, the grief would stop crashing so harshly, and things wouldn't be as bad so often. Things would be okay and Hermione would finally be proven right. But, until then, Ron and Hermione would simply love each other, because their love was strong enough to carry them through it, and that was enough.

_Hi everyone,_

_My grandmother's cat passed away a few days ago. I've been around her for over eleven years and shared such a bond with her that I feel like a part of me has died too. It may sound silly to some people, but she meant a lot to me, and so I haven't been in the best of moods, especially when it comes to writing. I can't write _The Cruel Irony_ at the moment. I just need to take a breather from it for a few days, which means the breaks between chapters may be ten or so days for more weeks than I'd intended._

_I was, however, able to write a depressing, angsty one-shot – this one. I guess that with my mood, I just felt like writing about something sad, and this is what happened. I have been planning on writing about Ron dealing with Fred's death for a few months now, but have been so focused on The _Cruel Irony_ that I haven't got around to it. Today I just felt like doing it, so here it is. I do hope you like it. As always, I would love to hear from you, good or bad, but this time more so, because I love writing one-shots with emotion, and want to improve this area of my writing in particular. _

_Thank you!_


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